


Hats are good for you

by FriendlyDragon



Category: Steam Powered Giraffe
Genre: DOOM!, Gen, Kind of fluffy at the end, Slight whumpage, Warning for clunky dialogue of doom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-03
Updated: 2013-09-03
Packaged: 2017-12-25 13:36:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/953720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FriendlyDragon/pseuds/FriendlyDragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Michael suffers from the heat whilst the band play through a heatwave. Borderline bromance ensues kind of.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hats are good for you

**Author's Note:**

> THIS ENTIRE FIC WAS LITERALLY JUST AN EXCUSE TO WRITE SOME STEVE/MICHAEL BROMANCE. I REGRET NOTHING.
> 
> Also, I found out whilst in the middle of writing this that David has actually suffered from heat exhaustion himself whilst performing during the San Diego Zoo shows. However, by the time I found this out, I was already like 3/4 of the way through writing this fic, and I had put a buttload of effort into it already at that point. So I'm posting it anyway.  
> So if this seems a little insensitive/tactless in that respect then I apologise, but to be fair I did /try/ to make up for it with the fluff at the end. Which I suddenly recall saying I was rather bad at writing.  
> Well darn.

Summer was by far the least favourite of seasons for all members of the band, for numerous reasons. The sweltering heat beating down on them meant that their boilers needed topping up constantly, something that was somewhat of an inconvenience for the Walter brothers as this meant that they had to take breaks between almost every song in order to do so. That in itself was irritating, but the risk of overheating, particularly on Rabbit’s part, meant that the band was also forced to avoid performing any overly taxing songs. Dancing was most definitely out of the question. Rabbit was always the most put out by this.

“Aw, c’mon The Spine! Just one little dance! The audience will l-love it!”

The Spine shot him a withering look from where he sat backstage, tuning his guitar for their imminent performance. (Well, I say backstage, but it was really more of a small gazebo behind the stage. Oh the woe’s of small gigs). Both automatons had a bottle of water clasped in their hands, under strict instruction from Michael to drink it all before going onstage.

“Now Rabbit, you know why you’re not allowed to dance today. You’ll overheat in no time at all in this weather, no matter how much water you drink. It’s just not safe.”

“S’not fair...” Rabbit pouted, folding his arms across his chest and hunching his shoulders.

Spine paused in his guitar tuning and reached over to pat his older brother on the shoulder, sympathetically. “I know buddy, but this heat-wave won’t last long. Soon as the weather cools down a bit, you can dance around on stage as much as you like.”

Rabbit shifted his gaze to the titanium ‘bot, pout still firmly in place but seeming a little more cheerful. “Ya promise, The Spine?”

Spine felt a smile twitch at his lips. “I promise, Rabbit.”

The words had barely left his lips before a small golden ‘bot bounded in between the two of them, grabbing hold of each of their wrists tightly with a determined look on his face. “Ya gotta pinkie promise, or it doesn’t count!”

Rabbit and Spine exchanged amused glances but complied nonetheless, linking pinkie fingers for a few seconds before separating and looking down at The Jon, expectantly. Said automaton simply nodded firmly, satisfied and leapt up, bounding off back to wherever it was that he had come. Rabbit and Spine smiled fondly at their younger brother as he disappeared once more.

“Well, he sure d-don’t seem ta be affected by the weather, huh Spine?”

Spine chuckled, returning his attention to his guitar once more.

“Lucky for some...”

\---

Michael panted tiredly, flexing his aching fingers as he wiped a sheen of sweat from his brow. The band had gotten halfway through their set before they had been forced to take a break, the heat practically unbearable now that it had reached midday. It didn’t help that the stage on which they were performing had no real roof of which to speak, meaning that they had next to no shelter from the sun’s rays whilst they played. He thanked their lucky stars that they had thought to bring sunscreen with them, or he dreaded to think how burnt the flesh and blood band members would have been by now.

Across the room (or, more accurately, tent) from him, Spine and Rabbit sat patiently, waiting for their systems to cool down. He was relieved to see them drinking the water he’d given them like he’d instructed.

They were due back on in 10 minutes, which didn’t seem like nearly enough of a break to him but he was grateful for some kind of respite from the sun, no matter how brief. He’d started to accumulate a dull ache in the back of his skull, which had mercifully begun to fade slightly after he’d stepped out of the sun. He could still feel it though, throbbing quietly in his head as he took a gulp of water from the bottle in his hands.

He found himself wishing that he’d had the insight to bring along some painkillers as well as sunscreen, but all their belongings (sans musical instruments of course) were in the back of the bus, and he really didn’t fancy heading out into that heat just yet. Besides, he was probably just a little dehydrated; once he’d drained the bottle of water in his hands he’d probably feel much better. At least, that’s what he was hoping. He let out a shaky breath and shifted his legs so that he was sitting cross legged on the grass.

He jumped in surprise as a deep, baritone voice rumbled from behind him, snapping him out of his daze.

“Hey there Michael; don’t suppose you’ve seen Jon anywhere have you? He ran off with Lil’ Steve earlier and I’m supposed to be retrieving it for Big Steve.”

Michael looked round, careful not to aggravate his aching head. “Jesus, Spine, you scared the hell out of me! And uh... nope, sorry, haven’t seen him. Wasn’t he... with you just a moment ago?”

The Spine frowned, not liking the way Michael’s voice trembled slightly mid-sentence, his voice rough and tired sounding. “He was, but it momentarily slipped my mind. By the time I remembered it was too late.” He stepped around the human until he was standing a few feet in front of where he was sat. He dropped into a crouch, half kneeling with one arm slung casually over the raised knee. Something about the way he was looking into Michael’s face, almost searchingly, made the human feel slightly uncomfortable.

“How’re you holding up in this heat? You’re looking a little peaky.”

Michael shot him a weak grin. “I’m cool, it’s nothing. I’m just kinda tired; I’ll be fine in a minute.”

Spine narrowed his eyes, “We could take a break for a little longer if you’d like. I’m sure the audience would understand.”

Michael shook his head furiously, “No, no way. These people paid to see Steam Powered Giraffe; some of them really went out of their way just to come see us! I’m not gonna keep them waiting. Honestly, I’ll be fine.”

There was a moment of silence, both men staring each other down, equally stubborn. Then, Spine sighed in defeat, rising from the floor and adjusting his fedora. “Then we’d better get going; we’re due on in 5 minutes.”

He extended a hand and Michael accepted it gratefully, allowing himself to be hauled onto still slightly unsteady legs. He watched as the silver automaton turned and walked through the door at the end of the makeshift backstage tent, calling out to Rabbit as he passed him. The oldest Walter brother pulled himself into a standing position and followed Spine through the doors leading onto the stage, flashing Michael a cheeky grin as he disappeared through them.

Michael smiled warmly and followed, stumbling slightly as he did so. He downed the rest of the water and tossed the empty bottle into a nearby bin, mentally preparing himself for the heat. With a deep breath, he stepped through the doors and onto the stage.

\---

This was it.

The last song.

Just one more song.

It was nearly over.

Michael pursed his dry lips, frowning deeply as he fought to remain focused. He was aware that his timing had been slightly off since the third song, but try as he might he just couldn’t seem to correct it. His mind kept drifting off to things of no importance whatsoever, like where last week's missing sock might possibly have run off to (and other such things). It was a bother.

He kept getting the niggling feeling that perhaps he should be a little concerned about this, a feeling which increased ten-fold after he missed his cue for the second time during that song alone. The Walter brothers were giving him curious glances every so often, quick little looks so brief they barely even registered in his addled brain. Spine was doing it more than the other two, for some reason.

After he missed his cue for the third time, he found himself growing frustrated. Why was it so difficult to stay focused? He’d done this a thousand times before, why was this time any different?

_“He, uh... He’s still goin’ on...”_

He looked across to Sam, enviously eyeing the bowler hat atop his head as he sat at his drum-kit. How come he had a hat and Michael didn’t? That didn’t seem fair at all. Michael also wondered, briefly, why he was staring back at him instead of playing the drums like he was supposed to. He didn’t dwell on it for long.

_“...Mister Reed?”_

In hindsight, he realised that he really should have brought a hat with him, at the very least it probably would have protected the top of his head from the sun’s rays. Oh yes, the sun. Flaming bastard. Whoever thought that a giant ball of burning gas in the sky was a good idea was a complete and total ass.

_“Mister Reed!”_

He frowned, grimacing as a wave of pain shot through his head and suddenly he noticed how very heavy his guitar was, even with the straps.

**“MICHAEL!”**

He blinked hard and whipped his head around to face the one calling his name. He got the impression they’d been calling it for a while now.

“Michael, you uh... you can stop playin’ now. The song’s f-finished.”

He stared hard at the copper ‘bot, the sentence taking longer than it should have done to sink in. When it did, he realised with quite some embarrassment that the song had indeed ended, the audience looking on in confusion as he continued to strum the same chord over and over again. He ducked his head, face burning as he placed a hand against the strings to still them, dropping the guitar and letting the straps take the weight.

The Spine was stood in front of him now, hands on each of his shoulders, holding him steady as he swayed violently. He wondered how he’d gotten there without his noticing. Oh, he was saying something. He should probably be listening.

“...need to sit down? You’re not looking so good, buddy.”

He struggled to respond, “Uh... M’fine, s’all g’d, ‘m g’d. M’fine...”

Okay, so maybe that wasn’t quite what he meant to say, but at least it got his point across. Why was his voice so weird? He sounded _drunk_. Was he drunk? When had he gotten _drunk_?

“...really think you should sit down, Michael. Come on, let’s go backstage for a bit, get you out of the sun.”

He felt an arm slip around his waist supportively, another lifting his left arm over sturdy shoulders as they slowly trudged towards the doors at the side of the stage. He didn’t bother fighting it, he was too busy trying not to throw up. Was he drunk? It sure felt like it.  
He stumbled down the steps outside the door and felt himself being eased into a sitting position on the grass. An open bottle of water was shoved into his sweaty palms.

“...call an ambulance? This looks pretty serious.”

Wait, was that... Steve? When the hell had he gotten here?

“...St’ve?”

He dragged his eyes around in search of the S.O.U.N.D engineer, but struggled to see past the little purple and black dots dancing around in his vision. The man must have heard him though, for a few seconds later he felt a hand grasp his shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Hey, how ya’ holding up?”

Michael could only shake his head weakly in response.

Steve’s brow creased in concern, his voice uncharacteristically quiet, “...That bad, huh?”

He continued to speak, but Michael got the impression that the words weren’t aimed at him.

“We really should take him to a hospital, he looks terrible!”

“No, it’s all right, this is only heat exhaustion. As long as he stays in the shade and drinks plenty of fluids he should be fine in an hour or so.”

“How can you tell it’s not something more serious? What if it’s heatstroke or something?! People _die_ from that, Spine!”

“I don’t think so. If it were heatstroke he’d have lost consciousness by now. I think we caught it just in time to prevent it getting that serious. Besides, I think he’s doing a little better already.”

He became aware of both men's eyes on him as he brought the bottle to his lips with fumbling hands. It was true, however, that he was feeling slightly less terrible now that he was no longer standing directly under the hot sun. The spots in his vision were clearing, gradually, and he found he was able to think a little more clearly.

“...I shoulda brought a hat...”

Steve smirked and patted his shoulder affectionately, “Yeah, definitely gonna keep that in mind next time we have to play a show in weather like this. Can’t have you fainting all over the stage like a little girl now, can we?”

Michael grinned weakly, “Screw you, man.”

Steve chuckled and stood up, standing next to the silver automaton who had been observing quietly with arms folded in front of his chest. He looked down at the human in concern. “Do you feel faint at all, Michael?”

The one man band shook his head, offering the ‘bot a reassuring smile. “Nah, I’m all right now. No worries.”

The Spine looked him over thoroughly for a few seconds, gauging the sincerity of the human’s statement, before nodding, placated. He muttered a few words quietly to Steve and headed back towards the stage doors to confront the audience and assist the remaining band members in explaining the situation.

Steve plonked himself down cross-legged on the floor in front of Michael, twiddling his thumbs.

“Well this sucks” Michael groaned, placing his head in his hands and massaging his aching temples.

The not-pirate grinned, plucking a blade of grass from the ground and pulling it apart with his fingers, absently. Michael unconsciously began to do the same.

“It’s worse for me; I gotta babysit you!”

“Hey! Don’t be a jerk, I’m wounded!” Michael retorted, throwing his blade of grass into the other man’s face. Or at least, that had been the intention, but his throw was so feeble that it barely made it out of his hands.

“Oh man, that was just embarrassing!” Steve scoffed, tossing his own blade of grass over his friend’s head.

\---

The Spine came back out from the stage a few minutes later to find Michael and Steve locked in bitter grass warfare, tossing great handfuls over each other's heads and exchanging mock insults. It wasn’t long before Sam, The Jon and Rabbit appeared in the room and spied the conflict as well.

Within seconds, all hell had broken loose, blade of grass and chunks of dry mud flying all over the place as the battle raged on, now between five combatants. The Spine stood by, watching in amusement and feeling all the tension and worry drain out of him.  
If there had been any doubts about Michael’s condition they were long gone now, all the earlier signs of fatigue forgotten amidst hellish combat of the plant variety.

Not for the first time, Spine found himself marvelling at the resilience of his human companions.


End file.
